


Fool Me Once

by I_was_BOTWP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Double Agent Draco Malfoy, Dystopia, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Turncoat Draco Malfoy, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_was_BOTWP/pseuds/I_was_BOTWP
Summary: For 20 years, Draco Malfoy has been wishing the war turned out differently, but at least he could work to do some good to make up for the evil he helped wrought. For nearly the same amount of time, he's been in love with a woman he couldn't have. He was fairly certain by now there wasn't anything he could do about that, but he hadn't given up all hope yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 20 Years Later Fest hosted by the Facebook group Dramione Fanfiction Forum. 
> 
> I had an idea for this story, and so I started kicking the proverbial rock down the road. My fabulous alpha, 89JadedPictures, helped me keep the rock on a fairly straight and narrow path. When she saw the rock getting precariously close to tumbling into a ditch, she pulled me back. My equally fabulous beta, HeartofAspen, picked up the jagged, ugly rock, and threw it into a tumbler until it was smooth and shiny. Neither of these ladies realized that when I said I wanted to kick the rock for a few feet, what I really meant was that I was going to kick it for a mile. Oh, and I was also not going to walk while I kicked the rock, but sprint. I hope y'all enjoy this one shot that turned into an eleven chapter mini-ficlet in just a matter of days.

**Prologue - Present Day**

Draco Malfoy stared around the Great Hall at Hogwarts with carefully hidden revulsion. From the outside, looking in, the room was filled with life and beauty. Draco looked through the thin veneer, seeing only death and ugliness. Most of his pureblood peers felt that as long as a witch were to drape herself in enough emeralds set into Goblin-forged metal, or if the silk in a wizard’s waistcoat came from Acromantulas, rather than common spiders, then the world was exactly as it should be. He had long ago divested himself of such absurd notions. The world would never be right again.

As he watched witches pose for the photographers mingling about, working to commemorate the occasion, he wondered, possibly for the five hundredth time, how these people could bring themselves to celebrate the darkness the world had fallen into? Was there anyone left in Wizarding England with a semblance of a conscience besides him? Did all of these people around him in their glittering dresses and finely woven robes really think the death of Harry Potter was the best thing to happen to the Wizarding World?

After twenty years, the stories of Harry Potter’s defeat were now more legend than fact. After all, history is written by the victors. And brainwashing never went out of style.

He suspected there might be a handful, like him, who had perfected their Occlumency to such a degree they could fool the Dark Lord. Protecting one’s mind was becoming a lost art, as their Lord did not care for it.

Draco, for more reasons than one, had only taught his own children rudimentary skills in kicking out sloppy Legilimens. To anyone with a modicum of skill, his children were open books.

Many years ago, there has been quite a few more practiced Occlumens. One of whom had fooled Draco so fully, it had nearly cost him everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**1998 - Early 2002**

Not long after the war ended, Draco had believed he could trust Pansy Parkinson. She had seemed just as lost as him, and when she had confided in him that one of her biggest regrets in life was that she had attempted to turn in Harry Potter, he had been stupid enough to buy it. Over the next three years, they worked together in secret to find the remnants of The Order of the Phoenix, offering them safe harbour until they could be smuggled out of the country.

Their ally within the Order had been George Weasley. After losing his twin that fateful day at Hogwarts, he had acted as if he had nothing else left in life to lose. And maybe he really hadn't. He had also lost another brother and his mother.

George's brother, Percy, had been rumored to be fighting on the "wrong" side during the final battle, but with no one left alive to be able to give a firsthand account of what exactly Percy had been doing, or who his spells had been aimed at, the slippery eel had settled right back into his Ministry position. As far as Draco could tell, Percy never again deviated from his vocal support of the new regime. His oldest daughter was currently Head Girl at The Heir's School in London, and you did not get that position without the right ideas ingrained into you.

When George Weasley popped up again and again, using his genius for deadly ambushes against Death Eaters and Snatchers, Draco had thought the ex-jokester reckless. But Pansy insisted George was their best bet for getting any others in hiding to trust them. The two of them had had a hell of a time convincing George they were on his side.

If being a double agent was trying, Draco could only imagine what it had been like for Pansy to work as a triple agent.

He had finally figured out Pansy's duplicity when George divulged he knew the location of Ron, and that he had started maneuvers to extradite him. The trio formulated a plan to send him to Canada. They had already sent his oldest brother, Bill, along with his Veela wife, Fleur, there the prior year. Except George could not seem to find them now.

Ron was deep in hiding, somewhere in Eastern Europe, was all George would reveal. Pansy kept trying to get George to bring him back to London. She insisted she was working with their Canadian contact on a portkey, and that Bill was a cursebreaker who had surely managed to hide himself under a Fidelius before. Ron would find his brother once he got there.

Growing suspicious, Draco set up a meeting alone with George and voiced his concerns about Pansy. They agreed on a plan to set a trap for her, with George Polyjuiced to look like his brother, Percy.

George, disguised as Percy, had "run into" Pansy at a cafe and struck up a conversation, leading to him asking if Pansy thought the rumors were true that Hermione Granger had been sighted in Perth. She had not acted surprised at the (fake) news. If only she had not been busy betraying Draco, he would have applauded her acting skills. She assured the false Percy that if it was true, then the witch would not be in hiding much longer.

However, the next step after the incident should have been for her to report back to Draco and George that one of the two biggest targets left for the Dark Lord's followers to hunt down was possibly in Australia. Instead, she continued to press for Ron to come to London.

A week later, an unfortunate accident befell Pansy while she was out on a mission… or at least that's what Draco led people to believe. He had zero remorse about what he'd had to do to the witch. Pansy could not do a non-verbal spell to save her life, quite literally, so after he had silenced and disarmed her, it had been fairly easy to dispatch her.

He had kept her alive long enough to torture her, dragging out any information he could.

Draco had begun mutely preparing ideas on how to flee the country on short notice as he yanked out her first fingernail. However, he quickly found, to his immense relief, that Pansy had kept his name out of all of it. Unsurprisingly, she had been seeking glory and a choice position within the ranks, leading to her decision to appear to be working alone.

Feeling confident enough in his combined use of Legilimency and a liberal dose of Veritaserum, he trusted the confession she gave between screams. His laughter rang out coldly upon her promise that she would continue to hide his existence as her accomplice while she begged for her life.

Soon enough, Pansy's pleas for her life turned into her hoping for a quick death.

The next answers he set upon extracting revealed that George Weasley was not so lucky as to remain anonymous. Pansy reported to Corban Yaxley, who knew exactly who George was. A well-placed Bombarda to Pansy's left ankle led to a shrieking disclosure that George was in no immediate danger. Yaxley's plan included keeping George as an unwitting contact until he brought them Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley. Though Yaxley had not bothered to share with Pansy what would happen to George after that point, Draco had his suspicions, based upon other examples of what befell people no longer considered useful to the cause.

He pressed on, trepidation growing over what else she might reveal. Removing her shirt, Draco began the tedious process of carving runes into the soft flesh of her chest and stomach - first Kenaz for revelation and knowledge, Dagaz for home and the power of change, and Sowilo. The combination of Pansy's blood and magic leaking out through the runes gave Draco immense power over the witch.

Whimpered replies met each of Draco's next questions.

Draco chose to start with the couple George would most like to know about. "Where are Bill and Fleur Weasley?"

"No one knows where they are. Once the Portkey deposited them in Quebec, they chain-apparated away before any of the Death Eaters waiting for them could fire a single spell."

"What about Kingsley Shacklebolt?

"After his failure with the half-breed and her mongrel, Yaxley learned his lesson. There were anti-apparition wards up the next time we sent someone off. Shacklebolt managed to take out one of the four Death Eaters assigned to killing him, when the Portkey you gave him dropped him in Madagascar." Pansy hung her head tiredly after that confession.

"I suppose that means McGonagall and Lovegood are both dead too?" he snarled.

Pansy's head lolled to the side enough to allow her to see Draco from the corner of her eye.

"McGonagall isn't sipping drinks on the beach in the Caribbean in a tartan bathing suit, that's for sure," she barked out. Her laughter quickly turned to a harsh cough. When she recovered, she continued, "Lovegood has been kept alive and is being held at Zabini's manor. Someone stumbled upon intelligence leading our Lord to believe in her minor Seer's abilities. Once captured, she was considered an asset worth keeping. There's an intricate plot afoot, which includes false sightings and that published story in an academic journal you were so bloody happy to see. People actually believe she's made it to her destination in South America and is happily seeking fantastical creatures with the grandson of Newt Scamander. What a load of bullshit."

Draco's hard face matched his dark tone as he pressed on, "Need I even ask about the Patil Twins?"

"There's the beauty in Yaxley's plan. The Patil twins are exactly where we sent them - back to their grandparents in India - but they're presently under the Imperious. They're decoys meant to be seen in public just enough that Order members or sympathizers will continue to feel safe enough to come out from hiding," Pansy finished with a smirk.

Draco wiped the smirk off her face when he calmly, but with the full intent behind it, cast, "Crucio."

There were a handful of others he was wondering about, but he had already spent far too long getting this information from her. Knowing he himself was safe, but that George wasn't, he began forcing her to give up the final information he needed.

"Where is Hermione Granger?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Present Day**

“Father.” Scorpius came up beside Draco. “How much longer are we staying?”

Draco turned to look at his son. The boy had just turned fifteen. Draco had not wanted to bring him tonight, but his wife had insisted upon it. Draco tried to convince her their son was too young for such an event. She quite needlessly reminded Draco that he’d barely been older than Scorpius was now when he began his service to their Lord.

At least she had agreed, that at only thirteen and eleven, their daughters Asterope and Carina should stay home with their governess.

When considering a list of possible traitors in their midst, Astoria Malfoy, née Greengrass, would not be on it. Nor would their son Scorpius.

Lucius had lined up the match between him and the younger Greengrass sister immediately following Pansy’s death. Draco’s father thought it would be best to get his son over the tragedy of losing his former intended, by replacing her as soon as possible. Astoria was available due to a...mistake made by her elder sister. Her family was paying their societal dues. Frankly, in the end, they probably thought they had won the lottery.

Draco and Pansy should have already been married by the time he’d had to kill her. She could not understand why he kept holding off. A Malfoy family heirloom ring adorned her left hand, and he fucked her regularly. Thank the gods he had been too busy thinking of cinnamon-colored eyes and wild curls rather than Pansy during the final two years, otherwise things would have been even more complicated. Although, at the time he had thought the opposite, feeling guilty over his duplicity against the only ally he thought he had on his side of things.

As it was, Lucius made sure the next contract entered upon had a stipulation regarding the length of time allowed before their vows. The courtship had been short, and Astoria fell pregnant soon after they wed.

Each time he took her, from their first time on, Draco hid away behind the shields of his mind, imagining someone quite different from the woman bearing his last name.

During the first few months of her pregnancy, Draco held onto the hope that Astoria might prove to be malleable to his way of seeing the world. She was younger than him, and her parents had managed to shelter her from much of the true nature of the Death Eaters.

Now, as a Malfoy, she no longer had the luxury of ignoring reality. Lord Voldemort had vacated Malfoy Manor, but he and many of his senior officials still met there frequently with both Lucius and Draco. After the second of these visits, Draco discovered Astoria hiding in her closet, clutching both hands protectively over her still-flat stomach, long after most of the revelers had Apparated or Floo’ed home. He had ventured to ask her if perhaps she wanted to have access to the Malfoy villa in the Loire Valley.

She had misinterpreted his offer. Instead of accepting it as an escape, she saw it as a challenge. The poised witch who greeted their “guests” scant weeks later was not the same Astoria. Draco had pulled her aside and accused her of taking a potion to build up her nerves. She, in turn, had straightened her back and given him a scathing look before deigning to answer, “I would never do anything to harm our child. I am doing my duty both as a Malfoy, and as a loyal subject to our Lord.”

During the final trimester of her pregnancy, she began to show signs of distress once again. Astoria’s health spiraled down quickly. Where she had once stood in the receiving room, welcoming in guests as they arrived, now she sat secluded in the conservatory during meetings, breathing in the magically purified, warm humid air their healer said she needed. Draco assigned two house elves to care for her day and night.

The diagnosis was dire - a family curse not necessarily forgotten, but willfully ignored after two hundreds years without incident. Ironically, this led to the final nail in the coffin of Draco’s dead hope for a wife who could work with him. Lord Voldemort became his wife’s savior when he decided to take her on as a project and successfully lifted her family’s curse.

In return, he had declared a life debt which could be fulfilled with a promise from her to bear more than one child. Over time, Astoria and Draco Malfoy were able to present three perfect little purebloods to their master. Draco did it against his will - pieces of him quietly dying on the inside each time. Meanwhile, Astoria lamented her inability to have more than three children, unaware that Draco had secretly managed to find a Muggle doctor to perform a vasectomy on him. Though Healers had tested the both of them for fertility issues, magic had overlooked the little snips.

Between forcing herself to attend inner-circle planning sessions, having her life saved, and seeing the envy with which most other witches regarded her, Astoria had become a true believer along the way.

When his wife became his unknowing enemy, Draco’s only hope of survival lay in letting her raise their children as if he shared her beliefs.

Now, Draco stood, contemplating Scorpius and wondering what advantage the evil little brat could possibly see in leaving early.

“This place is boring and quite dingy,” the young wizard whinged. “Why does it matter that we come each year to the exact room where Harry Potter and a bunch of Mudblood-loving traitors were executed? I much prefer the events at the palaces in London.”

Draco looked around. It was true his old school had never been repaired. In the immediate aftermath of that fateful battle, the school had been stripped bare. Any talk over the years of reopening it was quickly shot down. Their lord preferred to appropriate grand Muggle buildings in London. Only the Great Hall stood in full restoration, minus the house banners.

His son was merely bored. Of course he was.

“Well, Scorpius, seeing as you have never come here for an anniversary event before, I don’t know where you get off with saying  _we_ ,” Draco drawled. “If you would prefer to be left behind again with your little sisters and your governess come next year, by all means, let me know now. I seem to remember you begging to come tonight. Perhaps I was mistaken?”

“Great, so we came. There’s no one here my age. Why did mother have to insist I come? Maybe if there was a bit of fun going on…”

Draco knew exactly what Scorpius meant by fun. Astoria had already let him witness some of the tamer revel events. ‘Tamer’ being a comparative term.

“Are you daft? Muggles can’t see Hogwarts. Even Lord Voldemort can’t break that age-old enchantment. No point in trying to bring them here for any sort of sport.”

“Hmmph,” Scorpius snorted. “Well, what about some captured Mudbloods? Haven’t we found any lately? They could have been brought along for entertainment.”

Draco pulled his son close, holding his arm tight, and spoke directly into his ear. “If you know what is good for you, you’ll shut your trap, stupid boy. This event is important to our Lord and if he for one moment thinks you are deriding it, I guarantee his next visit to our house will include some unfortunate consequences for you.”

Scorpius went to move away, but Draco pulled him back in to hiss one more thing.

“And if I ever see you putting your cock anywhere near an impure witch, whether it’s during a revel or not, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Scorpius came away pale, but quickly tried to hide the proof of the altercation. Looking around to see who might have noticed, he cast a quick spell on the wrinkles Draco’s crushing grip had made on his sleeve.  He narrowed his eyes at his father, but did not dare to talk back.

“Do you understand me?” Draco pressed.

“Perfectly,” Scorpius answered. Draco slid inside his son’s mind. He saw a mixture of fear and anger, but nothing that spoke of betrayal. He was in and out so quickly after seeing what he needed, Scorpius never knew he was there.

Draco was unsure how much longer he would be able to maintain a hold on his son’s baser desires. Voldemort was breeding a multitude of addictions in the younger generation.

Casting dark spells led to a magical high - a rush of power and endorphins that potions simply could not match. However, that feeling was amazingly short-lived. It was gone mere minutes after a wizard finished casting. Draco understood the allure all too well after nearly twenty-five years of using both Unforgivables and lesser “grey” spells. A strong mind full of walls and cubbies in which one could hide pieces of himself, only to be taken out in privacy, could protect a wizard from the worst of it. Few had the skill, strength, and fortitude to do that.

When that high was unavailable, there were plenty who peddled potions to mimic the euphoria. Roger Davies was one such wizard. He had a thriving business right in the middle of Diagon Alley, sanctioned by the government for its medicinal uses. What a load of shite. But, doped up masses were easier to control, so long as you didn’t cut off their supply.

And sex? Well, there was more than enough of that to go around. Half-bloods were able to charge for their services. Those with good pedigrees were even able to bring in a decent income acting as surrogates for purebloods looking to ensure they followed the Ministry’s decree to increase magical blood. As long as you could prove four generations of magic before you, the fifth generation became pure. Wombs became a commodity to be bought.

At revels, Mudbloods had always used to be supplied for the enjoyment of the participants. However, it had been five years since the last adult Muggleborn had been caught. Now it was only Muggles passed around for the night, before they were killed.

Draco preferred not to dwell on the fate of the Muggleborn children found across Europe each year once their first displays of accidental magic registered with The Ministry.

The Inner Circle already knew that the “war” was essentially won. But, how to continue to spur the masses? Only with a threat looming over their head, even if it meant exaggerations or outright fabrications. Therefore, pictures of Mudbloods were still splashed across fliers hanging on lampposts and in shop windows. A list of the captured, printed in the newspaper, still listed blood status. Conspicuously missing from the list of captured Mudbloods was their age.

As long as you gave them someone to play with, revelers didn’t ask too many questions, and that trickled down to the general public.

Sheep. Draco was surrounded by sheep.

“Why don’t you find your mother and ask her to dance? She’d enjoy that,” Draco offered as an out to his son. He had to consider the boy was not entirely an idiot when he took it with a curt nod.

Watching his son walk away, he allowed himself a small sigh.

“How is it,” a voice came from beside Draco, someone appearing there while he had been distracted, “that we managed to have two of the biggest wankers for offspring?”


	4. Chapter 4

**1998 - Early 2002**

During the first few years after the Fall of Hogwarts, there had been small pockets of resistance fighters all over Europe. Both Pansy and Draco were part of an elite team of young wizards and witches with proven battle skills, sent on missions to find targets in other countries, with instructions to either capture or kill.

One evening, the envy Draco drew from his peers as the number of his solo assignments grew came to a head.

“What the fuck makes you so special, Malfoy?” Marcus Flint demanded over drinks out in a pub.

“Yeah,” Graham Montague chimed in, “who are you sucking off to get such choice assignments?”

Draco sneered, “Flint, you barely speak proper _English_. No one is going to be sending you to a country where you need to speak French, Spanish, Italian, or Russian to fit in. Graham, I saw your mother sucking off Macnair at a revel last week. Is she getting sent on missions now too?”

Blaise Zabini nearly choked on his scotch.

“The Dark Lord trusts me to do what needs to be done. Can’t say the same for you, Flint, after you let Cho Chang get away.” Draco enjoyed watching Marcus squirm. “If you have an issue with how our Lord makes assignments, take it up with him.”

No one dared to do so, leaving Draco able to be gone for long stretches without suspicion.

It was easy enough for Draco to follow Pansy on a mission intended to weed out a couple of old wizards causing trouble in Amsterdam, and then make it appear as if she had run afoul of them, rather than implicating himself or George.

Whether the few still out there suspected something was afoot, or perhaps, there just wasn’t anyone left, Draco wanted to know.

Which led to him using every last bit of magical energy he had to see if Parkinson knew anything about Granger’s whereabouts.

He poured an immense amount of his power into pulling magic out through the runes he carved into her, using the energy to power a simultaneous Crucio and Imperius upon her.

He broke her mind and her body, without getting the answer he sought. Not because Pansy was hiding anything; only because she did not know anything.

George had stayed behind in England only as long as it took for Draco to send him a Patronus from the Netherlands, letting him know the bitch was not going to be an issue anymore. Even if Draco could have kept him there as a contact, George had outgrown his usefulness. Finding Ron had been a big score, but they both knew no one else had contacted George in months.

As far as Pansy knew, the last anyone had seen of Granger in public was during the week following the death of Potter. She had broken into St. Mungo's, had looted a handful of shops in Diagon Alley, and finally, had been seen sprinting across the grounds at Hogwarts, making it into the relative safety of the forest before anyone could stop her. Each time, she had been alone.

At St. Mungo’s, she had stolen more supplies and medicinal potions than could be catalogued.

In Diagon Alley, she had made it into Ollivanders, Slug & Jiggers, and Obscurus Books; each on three separate visits.

No one was quite sure what she had been doing in Hogwarts. There were still occasional walls crashing down and random suits of armor wandering around at that point in time. After taking away all of the bodies, only a couple of lesser Snatchers had been left behind, stationed there to keep an eye on the place. It had not occurred to anyone that there might be a reason to go back so soon.

While the Death Eaters had been busy roaming the countryside, rooting out wizards and witches from obscure hiding spots, mercilessly hunting down their enemies, newly minted Enemy Number One, Hermione Granger, continued to operate in plain sight for those few days.

The last report presented to the Dark Lord concerning her ended with the sight of her hair whipping in the wind as she made it to the treeline surrounding Hogwarts.

Draco neglected to report the little river otter who lived on his estate beginning the summer of 1999.


	5. Chapter 5

**Present Day**

“Salazar! What the hell, Nott?” Draco narrowed his eyes at Theodore Nott accusingly. Draco was angry at the wizard for daring to sneak up on him, but also with himself for allowing anyone to get so close while he stood unaware.

Theo was poised with one hand in the pocket of his perfectly tailored trousers, while he held champagne in the other. Draco did not doubt Theo’s wand was in the hidden hand. The man was notoriously paranoid.

Theo had not allowed anyone inside his manor in nearly ten years, other than the Malfoys and the Dark Lord himself. Ever since his wife, Daphne Nott,  née Greengrass, and their son barely escaped an attack while Theo was out of the country, he had stopped entertaining. Draco knew their Lord only made a token visit as show that he trusted Theo not to be hiding anything.

Theodore showed his face in public often enough to make up for it, usually without his family. He rarely came to any private events. Daphne and Astoria insisted their sons grow up together, even if Scorpius was a year younger. Even so, they mostly associated at Malfoy Manor. Draco could count on one hand, the number of times he had stepped into Nott Manor since the incident.

“So, Astoria won out with bringing Scorpius tonight,” Theo stated blandly, watching the younger Malfoy walk across the room towards his mother. Draco was not fooled into thinking Theo wasn’t also watching for Draco’s reaction to his statement, even though the other wizard appeared to not be looking at him.

Even so, he could not help letting some bitterness creep into his voice when he defended the presence of his son. “We agreed it was time he started solidifying his position.”

Theo barely turned his head to allow Draco to see a ghost of smirk. “I’m sure.”

Draco coolly appraised his friend. He wasn’t sure what Theo was playing at. Out of all the people Draco chose to associate with, rather than the crowd he was forced to endure for political reasons, Theodore Nott was still, at times, an enigma to him.

They’d had playdates as young children, their mothers frequently coming together for tea and gossip. When Theo’s father became a widower, the playdates had stopped. Draco had asked after his friend, but Narcissa had looked so sad each time she told him, “Maybe another day,” he had quickly stopped.

Despite becoming reacquainted at Hogwarts, they were by no means close. Draco had Crabbe and Goyle as his goons by that time, and Theo showed little desire to be a follower. The tall, quiet boy operated alone as much as possible, preferring the library to studying in the common room. Rarely did he attend Quidditch matches, and it was not until classes grew smaller after OWLs, that Draco even sat with him during lessons.

“If Bryan were here, I am sure he’d be right by Scorpius’ side,” Theo remarked. “Thick as thieves.”

“I’m sure Bryan would be in some dark corner with a witch, hand up her skirt,” Draco replied. “Scorpius would be his lookout, waiting to hear the details later.”

Draco neglected to add what he was sure Theo already knew, that his son would gladly use the salacious story as wanking material.

“Yes, my son is paving quite the path the nearer he gets to coming of age.” Theo admitted. “I wouldn't be surprised if Scorpius might have tried a little touch and tickle, himself, with Bryan here to goad him on.”

Daphne and Theo were a true love match, not arranged like Draco and Astoria. Nott Sr. had been found asphyxiated in a corner booth at a back alley pub just six weeks after Lord Voldemort won the war, before any marriage contracts could be signed. No one had ever been charged with his murder.

Theo had not wasted any time in proposing a secret elopement to his longtime girlfriend, now that he did not have to wait for his paterfamilias to negotiate on his behalf. She had accepted, and much to her family’s chagrin, the two had turned up married not a week later.

They held off a bit on producing an heir for Theo, insisting they were young. Draco was sure there had been pressure from a few fronts for the two to start the next generation of loyal subjects, but Daphne had not fallen pregnant until nearly two years into their marriage.

Daphne had been pregnant with their second at the time of the attack, tragically losing the baby two days later. It was something they never spoke of. She had just begun showing; Astoria had been over the moon that she would be an aunt again. The Notts’ second child would have been nearly seven years younger than their first.

Before Daphne's second pregnancy, Draco had grown sick of hearing Astoria worry that Daphne was going to anger their Lord by only having one child. She had not kept quiet on this opinion to Daphne and Theo either. Her insesient blathering about the righteousness of the cause and a woman’s duty to help grow the  _ true _ magical population got old after the fiftieth round.

Thankfully, she had the tact to keep her gob shut afterward.

Theo might be meticulous about showing up to events like these, but Daphne refused to come. After losing her child, she had been irrevocably broken... something else they never spoke of. They did consider their sons to be fair game, both agreeing that the boys were twats.

“Perhaps,” Draco acknowledged, looking around at a few of the known slags in the room.

He had seen more than one of them proposition Theo before. He, himself, had been on the receiving end of Floo addresses slipped into his hand. Both men always said no. He would not put it past some of them to consider it fine revenge to tup his son. Or, for either of their sons to take something like that, if willingly offered.

Draco got the sense that behind closed doors, the Notts lived a very different life from him. The way Daphne laid small touches of her hand upon Theodore, even in public, was his first clue. When it was just the two families at one of their homes, she was even more free with her affections, kissing him on the cheek or holding his hand.

When Bryan came along, Daphne nursed him herself, much to Astoria’s thinly disguised disgust. Draco hired wet nurses for his wife all three times. The young boy sat comfortably in his father’s lap, enjoying freely given affection. Draco was not sure his own son had ever come to him when he was hurt or upset. Instead, there had been a nanny to offer comfort. Astoria insisted it was the way things were meant to be. No coddling a child.

Draco’s relationship with his own father had been much the same, so he had gone along with it. Yet, up until the age of ten, he at least had his mother’s arms to run into whenever he wanted. It was not until that final year before starting Hogwarts that his father had laid down a stricter way of behaving around Narcissa.

Draco wilfully ignored the differences between the two sisters, otherwise he would have found himself jealous of someone else’s marriage more often than he cared to admit.

As if reading his thoughts, Theo whispered, “Ever wonder if things could have been different?”

Draco carefully cast a non-verbal, wandless Muffliato. He had practised that spell ad nauseum to be able to do it completely undetected. There was no point in trying to have a bit of privacy in a crowd, if everyone in the crowd knew you wanted your conversation to go unheard. 

“What do you mean?” Draco moved his lips as little as possible, holding his glass up to cover them just in case.

Theo spoke into his glass, feigning the act of drinking, “Have you ever wondered what could have been? What if Granger hadn’t disappeared?”

Draco stiffened. He could not stop his visceral reaction - and he knew he’d been caught. Shite. Could he still write it off as surprise that Theo was the one implicating himself as a traitor? Yes, that could work, he quickly realized. He looked into Theo’s inscrutable face, prepared to accuse his accuser.

“I had a peculiar otter show up on my property, back in 2002. It stuck around for a few months.” Theo preempted him as he gave Draco a significant look.

Draco sucked in a breath. “Why are you telling me this now?” He demanded, forgetting to cover his mouth.

“How about we go to my place to continue this conversation?” Theo suggested.


	6. Chapter 6

**1999**

Draco had not initially realized anything was different about the lithe little mammal he had spotted scampering across a field one night - it looked just like any other one he had seen over the years on the expansive Malfoy property.

He had just helped George Weasley off through a small hole within his wards where apparition in and out could be hidden. Draco had admired the way the moonlight glinted off the little otter before striding back along the trail towards his house. During the mile or so walk, he had not thought on it again.

The next time he saw George, he had not seen the otter. But the time after that, Draco had been running a few minutes early. When he made his way down to the secluded grove, an otter was once again just disappearing in the night. He could have sworn it was the same one. He could have also sworn it had flounced its tail at him a bit aggressively.

As he turned to regard his informant, he observed George doing nothing to hide a snicker.

It had taken him nearly a week of sitting calmly near the water’s edge on the small lake he owned before the otter let itself be seen. He did not doubt for a moment it had been regarding him each time before, weighing the pros and cons of coming out of its hidey-hole.

The otter stood up on its forelegs, regarding him coolly from a safe distance. He had sat quietly, wondering if he could win a staring contest with the little bugger. When it went down onto all fours, looking as if it meant to leave, he gave in.

“I could have sent my hounds out for you that same night.”

He felt, more than saw, its disdain. The creature did not stand back up again, but merely cocked its head to the side, eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“I also could have used a myriad of spells to track you down.”

In the quiet night, the sound of its snort traveled to him easily.

“Muggle traps with charms to make them undetectable would have worked nicely.”

The otter brazenly moved closer, then turned, tail raised, to show him its arse.  Draco laughed.

“No, I suppose you’re a bit too clever, even for that, if you’ve managed to become an unregistered Animagus,” he conceded.

It turned back to face him again, but did not bother to move back to its former spot.

“What now?” he asked. “Do you plan to reveal who you are?”

The otter shook its head.

“Do you need anything from me?”

The otter nodded.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The otter chirped at him. He imagined it saying, “Fuck you.”

“Right. I suppose you expect me to trust you because George Weasley knows you?”

The otter laid down on the ground. Draco was not sure what that meant, at first, until it rolled over and showed him its underside. A sign of vulnerability.

He sighed, conceding, “Okay, you’re right. In the end, I do have the upper hand. But, if you refuse to switch back to your human form, how am I supposed to know what you want?”

The otter flipped over and supinely ran under a bush. Leaves flipped up behind its paws until a scrap of parchment was revealed hidden underneath the debris. When Draco stood to retrieve it, the otter skittered to the side to avoid him.

“Ahhh, so the trust doesn’t quite go both ways. Yet, you knew I would sit in the same spot as last night and you prepared for me. You _really are_ a smart little thing,” he concluded.

When he grabbed the paper it had four words printed on it in neat script he found vaguely familiar: _I need Mandrake leaves._

He looked down, taking barely a second to digest the words, but the otter chose that time to race away. The thought occurred to him that he had a wand, and that it would be fairly easy to fire any number of spells at its back. Instead, he took pleasure in watching her gambol across a few logs before she dove into the depths of the moonlit water.

The otter’s belly reveal had shown Draco he was definitely dealing with a witch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Late 2002**

It took eight months for Draco to formulate a plan on how to get into Blaise Zabini’s place and talk to Luna Lovegood. His plan did not include rescuing her. That was a chance he could not take. He figured he had used up years of good luck by managing to both kill Pansy and help George escape the country undetected. No, this mission only included getting information he hoped would help him track down Granger.

The Dark Lord had turned a blind eye to Blaise avoiding settling down. The dark-skinned wizard had little trouble catching the eye of various witches. Draco also knew from their school days that Zabini had no trouble casting a contraceptive spell. Yet, after the second accidental pregnancy of an unattached witch resulting in a child that clearly belonged to him, Draco suspected something was afoot.

Zabini’s aloof ‘love them, then leave them’ attitude had morphed into a ‘love them, then leave them knocked up’ attitude. When Draco found out a third witch was barely along with a little illegitimate Zabini in the oven, he manipulated the situation to give him an in.

He put the woman under the Imperius and began an insidious assault on Zabini’s estate. The crafty Italian had managed to get ironclad agreements signed while paying off the first two witches to bear his offspring. This woman was not going to be so easy. And, as Zabini’s solicitor, Draco was advising him to fight this third witch with everything he had, rather than settling.

Draco was beyond skilled at being a double agent by this point; playing a client off of a woman, who was in essence Draco himself, was child’s play.

When it came time for the birth, Draco engineered a plot that took Zabini away from his estate for two days and involved all his house elves being there to pledge themselves to the new young master. Draco offered one of his elves to run the estate during that time to “help out a good friend and make up for not being able to win this one for an excellent client.”

Draco’s elf happily apparated his master straight into the estate once it was empty - except for Lovegood. He found her quite easily after casting Homenum Revelio.

When Draco walked into the room she was kept in, he had no idea what to expect, but she had an entire suite of rooms, nothing like he imagined a prisoner enjoying. She surely had not been anywhere near that lucky when imprisoned for four months in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor as a sixteen year old.

“It’s okay,” he started out first thing upon opening the door to her outer sitting room, walking in with his hands raised where she could see they were empty.

“I know that,” she answered serenely. “Although you don’t have to try to pretend you can’t perform wandless magic for my sake.”

Draco lowered his hands to his side.

He still did not draw his wand; that would be beyond rude. He _was_ in a position to draw it fractionally faster with his hand now next to his pocket, though.

He looked around at the room. There was a good sized bookshelf full of tomes, more than one comfy chaise, and a window looking out over the grounds with an easel in front of it. The canvas sitting upon it contained a half-painted scene that looked nothing like what he could see beyond it.

“I’m painting what the land wishes to be, not what it is,” she told Draco, following his sightline.

Draco wasn’t sure how to follow up that statement, so he ignored it. “Just so you don’t get your hopes up, I’m not here to rescue you. I couldn’t help you the last time you were imprisoned, and I find myself in a similar bind once again,” he began.

“It seems you wish to be something other than you are, too,” Luna observed. “Perhaps if I painted you into my landscape, you’d be free to be yourself.”

“Can you see me being free?” Draco’s voice caught, a sudden hope constricting his throat.

Luna regarded him, eyes roaming from his family ring on his right hand, to the more recently added ring on his left. He tried not to flinch when her gazed skated over his left arm and instead came to rest on the pocket which held his wand.

“Show me your Patronus,” she whispered.

“You know Death Eaters can’t cast one,” he obfuscated.

Her eyes raised to his. “Please don’t lie to me, it’s tiresome,” she sighed.

Still he hesitated. Only two people knew he could cast the complicated spell. One had taken endless pride in having taught it to him; the other had endlessly teased him for the form it took.

“My mother loved Muggle music. I remember the way her hair glittered like fairy dust in the summer sun. She always seemed to be listening to a transistor radio while gardening.” Luna’s mind seemed to be going off in a different direction after he took too long to comply with her request.

Luna’s singing voice sounded nothing like her speaking voice. It was low and husky. She twirled slowly with her eyes closed while she sang. “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose…”

Draco closed his eyes too, letting her words wash over him. He drew his wand out, a collage of moments flickering behind his eyelids. “Expecto Patronum,” he stated clearly.

Luna stopped singing. He opened his eyes, finding her with a look of pure joy on her face as she took in the glowing little ferret floating between them. She clapped her hands and laughed.

“Mine’s a hare, you know.” No, he had not known. Luna continued, “Harry taught it to me. Hermione’s otter Patronus liked to chase it. I suppose hers likes yours more than it did mine, though.”

Draco latched onto Luna’s use of the present tense, completely forgetting any hesitation. “Is Hermione alive? Can you see where she is?”

“Yes.”

Draco’s fist clenched around his wand. “Yes? Just ‘yes’?”

“Yes,” she repeated. He waited a beat for her to elaborate, but she didn’t seem inclined to say more.

“Can you tell me where she is?” he snapped.

She stepped towards him, her hand held up to her heart, stopping an arm’s length from him. “I can feel her in here.” Luna tapped her chest. “And I can see her in here.” Her hand moved to his chest.

Draco ripped her hand away from his body. “I don’t want your gibberish, Luna. I want to know if you can help me find her again. The real her.”

“It’s time for you to go.” Luna said, turning her back on him to walk to her painting and pick up a brush. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Blaise you were here.”

“Wait! You haven’t told me anything!” Draco’s voice rose desperately.

Luna dabbed her brush in a dark red color and began to fill in the sun with it. “I told you, it’s time.”

Draco wanted to grab her and shake her. He wanted to try out some of the things on her he had done to Pansy. Pansy had talked. He could make Luna talk, too.

“No, no, no,” he asserted, regaining control over his thoughts. Luna seemed to understand he wasn’t responding to her when he spoke aloud; she did not acknowledge him.

Guilt flooded him, causing him to blurt out, “Is Blaise treating you okay? I mean, you seem fine here, not withstanding Blaise holding you prisoner for the Dark Lord.”

Luna’s strokes paused as she looked over her shoulder to him. “He will keep me as safe as he can for as long as he can.”

Years after their conversation, when Luna died, it was a public spectacle. The Dark Lord called a revel at Zabini Manor and had her paraded out before them all. He wove a tale of Blaise capturing her when she tried to sneak into England from South America. Draco could only assume her prophecies were no longer needed.

As a reward for apprehending such a high level traitor, Blaise was given the honor having her first in front of everyone. With a flick of his wrist, their Lord divested Luna of her clothing. With another flick, the woman was flat on her back with shackles holding her hands above her head and her legs apart.

The crowd began to form a circle around her, many jockeying for prime viewing, or a spot where they could be easily in line to have her next. Draco moved into place as expected.

Draco watched in horror as Blaise undid the fly on his trousers. The dark-skinned wizard’s face betrayed none of his feelings - he wore the same sneer Draco had seen any number of times before when in this same situation. Draco forced himself to keep his eyes on Blaise’s moving hips the entire time, with a fake smirk plastered on in case anyone glanced his way. There was always someone watching the crowd, rather than the action, looking for signs of weakness.

When it came to be Draco’s turn, he slipped inside Luna’s mind, trying to give her the peace his body couldn’t. He found her huddled in a dark corner, hands over her head. Draco called her name, begging her to open her eyes. When she raised her tear-streaked face, he conjured up an ethereal ferret. Luna choked out a sob when it nudged her hand. “Show me your hare,” he cajoled. He let it chase his ferret as long as he could.


	8. Chapter 8

**Late 1999**

Draco remembered the first time he saw the tawny fox sitting beside the otter, both by the feet of George Weasley, in the wizards’ usual meeting spot. It was about six weeks after he presented the otter with Mandrake leaves.

Even before that night, Draco had noticed a pattern to the otter’s presence. It only appeared when Pansy was not there. He’d held off telling Pansy about the otter the moment he realized it was an Animagus because he curious and wanted to find out who it was first. Upon realizing it was a witch, he had gotten a strange feeling in his gut.

The fox revealing itself now, on a night when Pansy was once again not present, confirmed his suspicions.

“I suppose I should make sure my hounds don't come after you, either?” Draco addressed the larger animal.

He had been surprised, but remained perfectly still, when it stood and moved to his side. Its nose tilted up and it sniffed his left arm. The fox’s lips pulled back, revealing sharp canine teeth as it let out a low snarl at the spot his Dark Mark lay hidden by his cloak.

Draco felt sure the animal could hear the telltale change in his heart rate. He managed a steady voice when he told it, “Yeah, I don't much care for what's under there either, mate.”

The fox stopped growling, but stayed next to him. Draco slowly moved his hand towards its head, drawn by the soft-looking fur. The fox allowed a few strokes behind its ears before it bound back to George's side.

George was outright laughing, something Draco had not seen him do since they had begun working together. He looked down to find the otter was lying on its side, panting out strange chirps.

“Glad I could amuse you,” he sneered.

George took a steadying breath. “Oi! Don't get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy. It's just, if only knew who you were petting...” he trailed off with another chuckle.

Draco looked back to the fox. “Care to enlighten me?”

The fox swished its tail violently and snorted.

Draco saw the fox on and off for a few more months. Sometimes in the company of George, sometimes not. Once, he watched curiously as it ran across a snow-covered field with a black marmoset sitting on his back. Then there was the last time, just a week later. After that, he never heard what became of Neville Longbottom.

Other strange animals came and went. Draco soon realized he had no hope of keeping hounds. He sold them to Urquhart, claiming that his frequent missions on behalf of their cause kept him from running them properly.

He wondered how his parents never noticed the menagerie moving around their estate. Narcissa came out to her gardens quite often, but did not venture much past the highly maintained formal areas. Lucius liked to ride his horse, but as he grew older, he no longer deviated from his proscribed path. Draco discerned the guests he allowed access had noticed the elder Malfoys’ habits.

The second time the little otter asked for Mandrake leaves, it was with much less fanfare than the first. The mustelid had taken to leaving notes asking for various small things under a rock near the spot Draco and George met. Sometimes the animal itself was there when Draco retrieved the notes, other times it wasn’t.

This time he found her waiting for him, calmly washing her ears with a paw. The night was overcast, with the moon occasionally showing itself through breaks in the clouds. He had not cast a Lumos, worried he would be seen, but his eyes had adjusted by the time he arrived.

“I’d like to learn too, you know. It could come in handy,” Draco informed her upon reading the note. “Could you teach me?”

He had grown quite used to the one-sided conversations. It had been nearly nine months now, and the witch still refused to take her human form in front of him. A niggling worry had settled in that maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she had inadvertently got herself stuck in this form? The risk of it happening was known - dissuading many from attempting the transformation. Well, that and the thought of having a leaf inside of their mouth day and night for a month straight. Along with the necessary meditations. Oh, and the crazy amount of rituals that had to be timed to the phases of the moon. So, in conclusion, one had to be very sure they knew what they were getting into.

The otter moved up right in front of him and cocked her head, inspecting him. He stoically awaited her judgement. She made some strange gestures with her paw.

“I’m not sure what you want me to do,” he admitted after a moment’s thought. “Is that a yes? Or a no?”

The otter sat down. It tapped a paw on the ground, then went still.

“Do you want me to sit?” He looked around. There was nothing that looked capable of being transfigured into a seat.

The otter nodded. Draco sat straight on the spongy ground, casting a warming spell around him.

The otter inched closer, coming right up to his knees. For the first time in their new history, she let him touch her. Her fur did not feel the way he had been expecting. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t anything like the fox.

He ventured a scratch behind an ear and was rewarded with a contented hum. Soon he found himself with an otter in his lap, who may or may not be purring.

“This is definitely a ‘yes’. No taking it back now,” he smirked at the upside-down creature sprawled across him, her head dangling over his thigh.

Draco considered his options as he stroked her lighter-colored soft underside, and came to an easy conclusion. It was time to lay down his hand, showing her all of his cards.

“I have to know if you’re still capable of turning back into a human before I allow you to help me with my transformation. I’ve see you help others achieve their Animagus form, so it’s not that I don’t trust your ability to teach me. Even if it’s just one time, I have to know that this form isn’t all I’ll ever get of you, Granger.” His voice hitched at the end of his pseudo-confession.

She stared at him, no longer purring, her body tense.

“What, you didn’t think I knew it was you?” He asked quietly.

She huffed at him before squirming off his lap. She slowly backed up a few meters. She wrinkled her nose at him. He wanted to tell her how adorable that was, but thought this would be a poor time to mention it.

Closing her eyes, she wriggled her body in a way that reminded Draco of the times he had seen her shaking off water after exiting the lake. There was an assumption that a person who grew up around magic was not as in awe of it as a person who had not. Most of the time he would agree with that. This was not one of them. With each quick twist of her body, multiple changes occurred, each happening so swiftly, he could not hope to catch them all. Her shedding fur flew off her body, the hairs disappearing before they hit the ground. The otter’s tail disappeared, shrinking back up into her spine. Paws changed into hands, the webbing between the fingers receding. Her face morphed as the hair on her head cascaded down beyond her shoulders. It was all over in an instant, leaving a naked Hermione Granger standing before him.

He jumped up and threw his cloak at her. She caught it with a smirk. Draco marveled at her lack of embarrassment as she languidly wrapped the thick garment around her shoulders.

“Really, Malfoy? Did you think otters could write notes?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Present Day**

Draco made his excuses to Astoria, ascertaining she would see Scorpius home safely. He mumbled something about Theo needing to talk, not giving a damn as to how she took it. Theo stood waiting just inside the Entrance Hall, the only other non-dilapidated section of the castle.

Draco knew the state of the rest of the castle intimately; he frequently found excuses to re-explore it, hoping to find a clue to the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Hermione. Now he was led to believe he had been looking in entirely the wrong places all along.

The two men walked swiftly down the path towards the spot where the front gate once stood. The wall had been torn asunder there during the battle; rusted metal still sat twisted amongst rubble. Neither wizard said a word as they made their way out of the gaping wound. Two pops sounded in the still night air.

Draco Apparated outside Nott Manor’s front door. Theo appeared beside him. Theo could have Apparated inside his own home, but etiquette dictated he not leave his guest standing there alone. A house elf opened the front door for them.

“Lucky, Mister Malfoy and I would like a bottle of Firewhisky, an assortment of pâtés, and a crudités tray in my study. After you deliver that, we are not to be disturbed,” Theo commanded the elf.

Lucky bowed, then disappeared.

Draco raised a brow. “Didn’t get enough to eat at the party?”

Theo strode down the hall, answering over his shoulder, “I’m expecting a long night.”

When they reached the door to Theo’s study, he paused, offering Draco a quelling look. “Right. I’m sure you understand what's expected here.”

The magical vibrations around the room alerted Draco to the strength of the wards. There would be a blood requirement at best, blood plus a cumbersome spell, at worst.

 _Two spells_ and a few drops of blood later, and both men were inside the room. Draco took a cursory glance around before training his eyes back on Theo.

“Now talk,” he demanded. “Where is Hermione Granger?”

“I don’t know where she is now. The last I heard from her was fifteen years ago,” Theo began his tale.

Draco poured himself a full glass of Firewhisky, figuring he’d need more than the traditional two-fingers.

“How much do you know about her? About _us_?” Draco tried to worm his way into Theo’s mind, hoping to see anything he was trying to hide before he could even answer the questions. He came up against a strong wall; Theo was not even bothering to pretend at not knowing Draco was using Legilimency.

“No need to force your way in. I plan to tell you everything,” Theo said, narrowing his eyes.

Draco knew he’d been rude, but he wanted answers now. “Fine,” he growled, sitting down in a chair.

“And I know everything, plus more than you.” Theo said smugly.

Draco dug his hand into the leather-clad arm of his seat. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You're trying my nerves.”

“I’m under an Unbreakable Vow, you have to know. I think I know how to phrase everything so as to not, well, break my vow. Please excuse me when I stutter or stop,” Theo began in earnest. “Hermione appeared in her Animagus form on my grounds in the spring of 2002. I never bothered to ask how long she watched me before she revealed herself, but I suspect it wasn’t more than a handful of days. She just wanted to catch me alone, after all. I was out to check on my stables - a mare had just foaled. Daphne insisted the birth was auspicious, being so close to Bryan’s due date, and she wanted me to do everything I could to make sure the foal survived. Those final days of pregnancy can be stifling, so really, I was happy for the excuse to leave the house for a short while.”

Theo snorted, clearly thinking something he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say aloud before he continued, “She snuck up on me, had me bound and silenced before I knew she was there. Not my finest moment. After it was all over, I changed the wards drastically. But right then, all I could think about was leaving behind my wife and unborn son. She looked a fright, Hermione did. She seemed sick…”

Draco interrupted, “She was fine the last time I saw her.” He leaned forward in his chair, voice lowering threateningly. “What happened to her?”

Theo eyes slid to the side, avoiding Draco’s intense gaze. He spoke to an empty space above the blond’s shoulder. “She didn't come straight to me. Salazar, I wish she would have. Maybe with a couple extra months on the front end to protect her, to plan, things could have been different… She spent so much time in her otter form. Being an Animagus saved her more than once; it made her feel safe…” Theo trailed off with a shudder. He took a long sip of his drink, then turned haunted eyes back to Draco.

“But I’m getting ahead of myself. She had me tied up, a wand pointed at my face. She may have looked like shite, but her hand was steady,” Theo spoke quickly, the words tumbling out. “She reminded me of a life-debt I owed her from the battle at Hogwarts. I felt the magic tingle around me as she said it. She knew what she was doing; she said everything correctly to invoke repayment. She forced me into the Unbreakable Vow.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. It was all he could do not to blurt out questions for Theo. He sensed his friends unease with telling this story now, after all these years, long after any effect could be had upon the events. If he interrupted, he might be losing any hope of hearing exactly what happened to Hermione.

“Once she extracted an ironclad guarantee I couldn’t hurt her, you, or …” Theo licked his lips. The whites of his eyes showed more than was normal.

The glass in Draco’s had shattered, along with the one in Theo’s hand. A glass curio cabinet stood in ruins, the grandfather clock in the corner ticked on without its glass face, and a frame stood empty, pieces of a gilded mirror below it. Blood pooled in Draco’s palm. He looked at it in amazement, admiring the paths the red rivulets took. He barely registered a stinging feeling in his right temple.

Looking up from his hand, Draco noted that Theo’s lips were once again moving, but all he could hear was a loud buzzing noise. Getting up from the chair, he began to pace. Glass crunched under his feet. He ran both hands through his hair, unconcerned with the blood he was assuredly smearing around.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  He stopped and stared at Theo, who was no longer moving his mouth.

“Draco, you have to understand,” Theo pleaded.

“No, I don’t have to understand anything! She was pregnant!” Theo nodded a confirmation, although that had been a statement rather than a question. Draco moaned, “She was pregnant with my child and she ran away from me. Fuck. Why did she run away from me?”

“She was scared, Draco. Scared of you being caught. Scared of what would happen to her if she was caught. But, most of all, scared for your baby.” Theo saying it aloud made it real, Draco realized. He and Granger had created a life together.

Draco ceased pacing directly in front of Theo. “ _I_ could have protected her!” he shouted, jabbing a finger towards his own chest. “ _I_ already was protecting her! Why’d she really come to you, Theo?”

“She knew the reality, Draco. She was accidentally knocked up with your sprog. Merlin help her, but she wanted to protect you, and thought she was doing that by leaving. She thought she was protecting all of you. She wasn’t just scared by the war, you bloody idiot! She thought there was a chance you would try to make her get rid of the baby. Fucking a Mudblood is one thing, but letting them dirty your line? That’s a whole other thing. On top of all of that, which mind you, is a heap of shite, there was still her final issue.” Theo had been shouting right back at Draco when he started in this last time, but Draco noticed something as he spoke. He had trouble calling Hermione a Mudblood and there was a quiver in his voice at the end.

“Were you in love with her?” Draco demanded.

Theo rolled his eyes. “No. We became… friends while she was here. But, no. Daphne’s it for me. And that’s part of why I wanted to talk to you too. But, first we need to finish this. And I need to ask you the same question. Are you in love with Hermione Granger?”

Was Draco still in love with a woman he had not seen in sixteen years? He thought of everything he had been through since then. He certainly was not the same man she had allowed herself to be vulnerable with. Yet, when he imagined a life he really wanted to live, a future that would have been worth a damn, it was not Astoria he pictured. It had _never_ been Astoria he pictured.

For a while, he had tried to see past Astoria, to the three children she had given them, placating himself that a loveless marriage was fine, because at least he had children to love, and be loved by. But time had stolen that illusion from him, too. He felt next to nothing for any of them. In fact, he was already beginning to feel more regarding a child he had never known he had. And why? Because the child belonged to him and Granger.

Draco nodded at Theo and admitted, “Yes. Yes, I’m in love with Hermione Granger. May the gods help me, but I was then, and I still am now.” Saying it out loud to someone else was liberating. Frightening as fuck, but liberating, nonetheless. “Do you know where she is? Could you help me find her? Do you think she’d even want me after all of this time? Our child will be nearly of age now. What would she even want me for, if she’s managed to raise them all on her own, hidden away for all of this time?”

Theo stood up, brushing glass carefully off of his trousers and onto the floor. He pulled his wand from his pocket and set about repairing the damage Draco had accidentally wrought in his anger. The Firewisky bottle had exploded along with the rest of the glass, and it now flew back together. Unfortunately, the bottle sat empty; the liquid inside was gone, having left behind just a puddle on the table and a wet spot on the carpet. Righting everything took only a moment. When it was done, Theo walked over to his desk and opened a drawer.

Draco was growing impatient. Why wasn’t Theo answering him? “Don’t you know where she is? If you don’t, do you at least know where she went when she left here? I could follow her trail, track her down.”

“Draco, I think you better sit back down first. There’s more I need to tell you.” Theo produced a pack of Muggle cigarettes from his desk and stuck one in his mouth. He offered the pack to Draco, but Draco waved him off. Draco watched Theo light the cigarette and inhale deeply. He breathed the smoke back out with an audible sigh.

"Draco, I need to finish telling you about her time here first. She was a few months along already when she appeared in my stables. After making sure I couldn’t do anything directly, or even indirectly, to cause her harm, she broke down. Right there, on the dusty wood floor. She started crying, mumbling incoherent things between sobs. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just sat down next to her and waited. She finally calmed down enough for me to understand what she was telling me.

The first few weeks she was pregnant, she hadn’t known. No woman ever really does, I guess. But, when you aren’t actively trying to get pregnant, it’s easier to miss, right? She explained to me that she spent most of her time when you weren’t able to be with her in her otter form. It kept her less likely to be noticed by your parents and any other “guests” on the estate. Then, when she ran away, she said she realized she had no hope of keeping herself undetected in human form. She only chanced it for long stretches when she needed supplies. She tried to time it, keeping track of the hours spent in one form or the other. But, she said, that got to be too much when she had so much more on her mind, like just bloody staying alive and somewhat healthy.”

Realization finally began to sink in on what Theo had been skirting around since the beginning. Draco had been far too focused on finding out what had become of Hermione after she disappeared to understand until now.

“Animagi are so rare,” Theo continued. “It isn’t as if there have been a lot of studies of any sort done on them. She had looked through everything she had squirreled away in that little bag of hers. Amazing piece of magic that bag was, by the way. We read everything I could find in my library. We couldn’t find any reference, not even a sentence, to the consequences for a baby if the mother spent time in her animal form. Over and over, she tried to justify to me that it must be alright in the first month or two, when the sprog is so small. She rattled off so many facts about pregnancy and fetuses, it was disconcerting. I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember most of what she said. It was a lot of Muggle science.”

Theo had finished his cigarette by this time and he stubbed it out in a small glass dish on his desk. He glanced towards the pack still sitting out, obviously contemplating a second. Draco watched his friend steel himself to finish his tale. Theo looked into Draco’s face. Draco did not want to hear what he knew was coming, but at the same time needed to hear it.

“She was scared and left you because, while there was the hope you could accept a half-blood child, she wasn’t sure even she had the strength to accept a true magical abomination for a child. So, she ran. Until she realized she would still need help when the time came to have the baby. How she settled on me, besides the life-debt part, is a bit insane. She had a pretty good idea who the traitors were in our midst. I certainly wasn’t one of them. But, for the next three months I acted like one. I kept her ensconced in this very room,” Theo said, flourishing his hand around.

“I’d already set the precedent that Daphne didn’t come in here, so keeping her out wasn’t suspicious. I added to the wards, just in case. Together, Hermione and I were able to add a bathroom on. That panel over there slides aside.” Theo moved over to the indicated panel and touched it, causing the wall to reveal a fairly nice bathroom behind it. “I only trusted one elf to bring supplies in and out. I did everything I could think of to help her be comfortable.”

“Why didn’t you come to me then, once you knew she was safe with you? You should have come to me!” Draco’s anger was mounting.

“The vow wouldn’t let me. I tried twice, I really did. The first time was about a week after she started living here. The magic of the vow felt my intent and somehow it determined I would be breaking it. It hurt so fucking much, I had a migraine for two days. The second time was after Pansy was killed. When I told Hermione she was dead, the witch laughed and said, “About fucking time. I never liked her and trusted her even less. Draco never told her about me, thank God.” I thought that meant it could be safe to tell you - after all you were free now to be with Hermione, if you were willing to take a chance. Once again the magic stopped me. Hermione was nearly full term then. The vow was still protecting the baby.”

Theo got a far-off look on his face. He fiddled with his hands, turning his wedding ring round and round. “I helped bring your daughter into the world you know,” he blurted out, looking both proud and scared by this part of his confession. “It was just me and Lucky in here. I had to pretend to be called away by the Lord. My own son was still a tiny thing and Daphne didn’t want me to go. I assured her I would be fine. That was an easy promise to keep when I wasn’t even leaving the house.”

This was it. Now was when Theo was going to tell him that his daughter (He had a daughter! Was her hair blond and curly? Did she have his grey eyes, or Hermione’s brown?) had come out with whiskers and webbed toes.

“She was beautiful, Draco. And perfect. For three days, I stayed in this room with Hermione, from the start to the day after the birth. During that last day, Hermione fussed over her in the same way I had seen Daphne fuss over Bryan, but there was more to it. She kept running different diagnostic spells on the baby, trying to see if there was something wrong with her on the inside. She couldn’t seem to let herself believe the baby was normal after all of her months of worrying that she wouldn’t be. When I knew I had to leave, or risk being discovered in a lie, I told Hermione I would come back as soon as I could.”

Theo had moved to a bookshelf and picked up a globe while talking. He brought it back over to his desk, setting in in the middle. He began a series of complicated wand movements and the globe popped open, revealing a secret compartment hidden inside. He took out a small box, carefully placing it next to the globe.

“When I next found time to come in here again, I found a copy of the newspaper sitting on the table. Hermione had been so bored being cooped up in here for months. Lucky tried to bring her new reading material as much as he could in addition to food and water. The newspaper had your engagement announcement in it. That was quite the spread your mother commissioned for you and Astoria.”

“Damn it! Damn my parents and damn Astoria!” Draco interrupted.

“Hermione sat in a chair, nursing your little girl. She calmly told me she was leaving England. Planned to try to make it to the States. She thought there were some Weasleys in Canada, she said, but she wasn’t sure. The States seemed a better option, though. She told me it wouldn’t be safe to apparate with a baby. Wanted to know if I had any way to help her get to that underground tunnel Muggles use to drive to automobiles to France. I reminded her that it was heavily watched by our side. As were any ships going in and out of the country. Airplanes were completely out of the question, too.

She told me to figure something out, she was holding me to my vow. I finally came up with a plan. I scheduled a vacation to Spain with Daphne and Bryan. When the time came, it was Hermione and your baby I took to Spain. I polyjuiced Hermione, and all little babies look the same, as long as you don’t open their nappy. We took a ship; once we were onboard, my “wife” claimed sea sickness, staying in our cabin the entire journey. That’s the last I saw of them. I’m pretty sure they were still out there all this time. At least one, even though they hid themselves well. Until today, the vow stopped me from ever talking about them.”

Draco was tired, suddenly so tired. He wanted to know what had changed, but was afraid to ask. His emotions had been on the worst broom ride of his life and he wasn’t sure he could stand any more twists and turns.

“What about all of the searching I’ve done? Couldn’t you have helped me in even the littlest way?” Draco wondered.

“Who do you think cleaned up after you when you weren’t as stealthy as you thought in trying to get answers? I watched out for you all of these years the best I could. You’re still alive, count that as a blessing.” Theo responded harshly. “Now pay attention, this is the part where I once again help you, only this time you’re aware of it.”

He watched mutely as Theo opened the tiny box before him. There was something gold inside.

“Holy mother of Merlin,” Draco whispered reverently. Feeling reinvigorated, he jumped up for a closer look. “Is that what I think it is?”

He stood over the desk, opposite from Theo, staring down into the box. Inside of it was the most lovely thing he had ever seen. A time turner.

“Last night, I finished ten years worth of work. I don't know how long this time turner has been in my family. I stumbled upon it after my father’s death, when wards he had set to hide it fell apart. I never intended to use it, at least not until I had my daughter stolen from me. I may not have lost my wife and son that day, but I may as well have. I had planned to go back to before Daphne was attacked and change time so that she and Bryan could have the life I dreamed of for them. To see my daughter live. Then, I saw you tonight, and the vow I made to Hermione morphed. It practically forced me to talk to you. I think we’re meant to go back together, mate. Back further than I had originally planned.”

“What's my daughter's name?” Knowing this suddenly seemed very important to Draco.

“Leona,” Theo snickered.

Draco stared at his friend, wondering if this was an awful attempt at a joke.

When he realized Theo was serious, he said, “That will just be one more thing for us to change, won't it?”


	10. Chapter 10

**2001 - 2002**

“No!” Draco stomped away across the field, leaving behind a hyperventilating Hermione. He’d begun referring to her as Hermione in his head recently, but had not worked up the nerve to say it aloud yet.

“Draco, come back!” she gasped, wiping tears from her face.

“Absolutely, positively, no. No way. I am not going through with this!” he yelled back at her, his arms crossed and a glower set on his face.

Hermione started giggling again. “But you’ll be so cute!”

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh when I told you,” Draco pouted. Hermione stood up to walk towards him. “I should have just pretended it didn’t work. Would you have believed me if I told I didn’t see anything and probably wasn’t meant to be an Animagus?”

She stopped right in front of him, still with a shite-eating grin on her face, and rolled her eyes. “Nope,” she told him, popping the P for added emphasis.

“Weeks of mediation, all down the drain!” he griped.

“You need to learn this,” she pleaded, her voice sobering up. “It could save your life one day.”

Draco stepped closer, invading her personal space. Hermione didn’t move back. His eyes slid down to her lips. She licked them, already anticipating his next move.

“Convince me you’re sorry for laughing,” he told her in a low voice.

Their first kiss became the strongest memory Draco used to help cast his Patronus.

* * *

“What happened to Ron?” Draco blurted out one afternoon, trying anything to take his mind off the confession she had just wrenched out of him.

He wasn’t sure why Weasley chose then to pop into his head. Maybe it was because they had been discussing the death of Zacharias Smith, another former Quidditch player from their school years. Draco could not picture Smith's face. He just conjured up a vague notion of a Hufflepuff in Quidditch gear. As a quiet half-blood, Smith had managed to stay off the radar for a few years. A raid on his family’s house, prompted by an anonymous tip, turned up two Mudbloods living in a secret compartment in the attic.

When he unexpectedly arrived in their usual meeting spot, still in the same singed clothes he had worn to the Smiths’ house, he had disclosed his nagging guilt. “I can’t save them all. Why can’t I figure out how to save more of them? Maybe I could spend less on my clothes; siphon off more money my parents wouldn’t notice is missing. I could sell some of my cufflinks and tie clips.”

She had only managed to get him to stop his rambling by grabbing his hand to yank him to the ground. Once there, she held him half in her lap, tight against her chest, stroking his head until he trailed off.

She exhaled noisily and made a long, low sound in her throat. “I honestly thought you’d ask sooner how he and I ended up separated.”

Draco pulled back, examining her face for signs of anger. He found sadness and guilt, but he did not see any evidence he had upset her with the question.

“After we saw Harry’s body hit the ground in the Great Hall, we knew we didn’t stand much of a chance. He ran towards his family, probably expecting me to follow him. I ran towards the exit, expecting him to follow me. I reached to doors to the Entrance Hall before turning around to find him too far away to go back. He started towards me, but Charlie grabbed his hand and dragged Ron away before he could try to reach me.” Hermione paused to wipe tears off both cheeks and offer him a watery smile. “Sorry, the only other person I’ve talked about this with is George, so it’s a bit tough.”

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s good to talk about it,” she insisted. “Anyway, I spent the first few days sticking close to Diagon Alley, gathering supplies and trying to leave clues on how to find me, thinking he’d be looking. He’d been lost from me once before, it didn’t occur to me until almost a week in that he wouldn’t be able to find me. That’s when I went to Hogwarts again, to see if the item Ron had the last time got left behind, was dropped during the fighting.”

Hermione held up her hand. “ _Accio_ Deluminator.” A small silver contraption flew to her. She flipped it open and scrunched up her face in concentration.

“Ron never told me what he said or did to get it to work. He just said that he could hear me talking and it led him back to me. I’ve never heard a thing.” Hermione was now sobbing, making it difficult for Draco to understand everything she said.

He rearranged himself, reversing their previous positions so she sat in his lap. She did not seem to mind the dust and smoke saturating his robes and she buried her face against him.

“I don’t know what it means. Maybe I’m just not doing it right? Maybe there was an incantation he forgot to tell me? Or maybe… maybe I don’t love him enough?” Shudders wracked her body as she choked out one more thought, “Of maybe he’s just dead.”

When she’d finally quieted down, she quietly admitted, “There was one good thing to come out of me planting a few inconspicuous items around Diagon Alley. It led George to me.”

* * *

The two of them ran circles around George’s legs when he appeared, Draco chasing Hermione until she grew weary of his little teeth snapping at her tail. She turned on him and easily tackled his smaller frame.

“Not that I don’t enjoy seeing Hermione put you in your place, Ferret, but I did come here for a reason,” George reminded the two of them.

Draco and Hermione popped back into their human forms. George unabashedly looked them both up and down as they Accio’d their clothes, his eyes lingering for an equal amount of time on both.

Revels had long since stolen all of Draco’s shame. He wondered if George had ever had any to begin with.

“Like what you see?” he drawled, pulling on his pants.

“You’re a bit pasty for my tastes,” George grinned, turning to give Hermione a flirty wink.

“Can we get down to business boys?” Hermione huffed.

“I’ve had contact again with Minerva. She thinks her Animagus form is too recognizable for us to stick her in some unsuspecting Muggle’s cat carrier and put her on an airplane. She’d rather chance Pansy’s Portkey to Antigua,” George reported on their latest project.

A week later, Pansy had secured the illicit item for them. She had a blackmarket contact in Istanbul who created them on the sly. It was the same guy who gave her a great deal on formally cursed jewels.

Hermione and Draco celebrated their success with languid lovemaking in a tent she kept in a handy little beaded bag.

She moaned, “Draco,” repeatedly, with wild abandon, as she climaxed.

* * *

He came to Hermione after another row with Pansy regarding the lack of any wedding planning. He had felt obligated to fuck Pansy to get her to calm down and believe he still loved her. It had been the worst shag of his life, and that was saying a lot; he’d had some horrible shags over the years.

At same point in time, he had switched from feeling guilty about cheating on Pansy, to feeling guilty about cheating on Hermione. He wanted to confess everything to Hermione, apologize to her, beg her forgiveness. Instead he had shagged her rotten, going as long as he could hold off his orgasm, pouring all of his feelings into making her feel good.

He knew it was wrong, that this was the worst way to make his feelings known, but when they laid on her cot, still panting from the exertion, he had whispered into her hair, “I love you, Hermione.”

Draco developed an entirely new bad habit. He would use Legilimency to plant seemingly innocuous little images in Hermione’s head. She always knew he was there, he came up against her mental walls slowly and waited patiently for her to let him in. He never delved too deep, just brushing the surface before leaving behind a few seconds worth of thoughts.

The majority of what he wanted her to see were risqué scenes he imagined them acting out. Sometimes she’d indulge him and try out something new. Like the utterly cliché school girl fantasy. Other times, she’d end up blushing and stammering out a, “No!”

He had other fantasies he wanted to lose himself in too. He showed her all of his “what ifs”. What if he had defied his parents as a teen and become friends with the most intriguing girl her knew?  What if he had accepted Dumbledore’s offer of assistance? What if he had managed to stop his Aunt Bellatrix from torturing Hermione on the floor of the house looming behind them? What if…

The other fantasies proved the most insidious. He could see the way she reacted to them. She wanted them so badly, too. He didn’t know how to make them happen in the real world, but here, in the cocoon they built around themselves, they could indulge. He showed Hermione his bedroom inside the manor and let her see herself sleeping safely in his bed. Another time, they strolled Diagon Alley, hand-in-hand, pausing to look in the windows of the shops. She begged him for new books, he made her get ice cream at Fortescue’s. Over time, he showed her the interiors of his estates, and he created date after date for her, taking her to places both familiar and others she had never been.

“It isn’t good to dwell upon fantasies,” she tried to remind him nearly every time, but then she’d give in and let him create just one more for her.

* * *

“I have to go. My Portkey to Belgium leaves in 20 minutes,” he insisted, as she tried to straddle him once more. Not that he didn’t love her like this, demanding and taking control.

She had been insatiable the last three times they had found time alone together.

She’d seemed a bit off lately. Asking him strange questions out of the blue. He’d brought down books an Animagi from his library for her, even though he’d let her borrow the same ones before. She’d snapped at him for the smallest thing just yesterday.

Now she was crying for no apparent reason.

“It’s just for a handful of days. I’ll be back before you know it. I love you,” he told her, finally sneaking out of her grasp.

“I love you too, Draco. Don’t you ever doubt that. Don’t you ever forget it,” she told him earnestly, jumping up to wrap her arms around his waist.

“Okay, okay. Just let me put my clothes on, will you?” he teased her.

“I wish…” she started to say.

“What? What do you wish?”

“I wish things could be different, Draco.”

“Me too.” He was now buttoning up his shirt, getting ready to grab his robes and leave.

“Then run away with me. We could make it somewhere safe together, I know it!” She urged frantically, gripping his arm. “I love you, Draco. Isn’t that enough?”

“I love you too, Hermione. I promise you are enough for me. Let’s talk about it when I get back,” he said soothingly, disentangling her hand.

She grabbed his face and kissed him fiercely. “I love you,” she panted when they broke apart.

“I know,” he laughed at her absurdity. “We’ll be back together before you know it.”

Those were his last words to Hermione Granger. Why hadn’t he told her that he loved her too, just one more time?


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue - Present Day**

Draco Malfoy stared around the Great Hall at Hogwarts with carefully hidden revulsion. From the outside, looking in, the room was filled with life and beauty. Draco looked through the thin veneer, seeing only death and ugliness. Try as he might, it was oftentimes difficult for him to not to see other scenes superimposed atop the present ones when he stood in places he’d battled.

The scene he saw most often when he stood inside this hall was of himself at seventeen talking to another, older himself. That older him wasn’t really him, or would never be him. It made his head hurt to attempt describing the phenomenon to anyone other than Theo, without them thinking he was crazy. 

“Father,” Scorpius came up beside Draco, “how much longer are we staying?”

Draco turned to look at his son. The boy had just turned fifteen. Draco had not wanted to bring him tonight, but his wife had insisted upon it. Draco tried to convince her their son was too young for such an event. She quite needlessly reminded Draco that he’d barely been older than Scorpius was now when he’d been forced to become a man.

“It’s merely a ball. Daphne said that Bryan will be there too,” she had cajoled.

At least she had agreed, that at only thirteen and eleven, their younger daughters, Asterope and Carina, should stay home with their governess.

Now, Draco stood, contemplating Scorpius and wondering what advantage the little brat could possibly see in leaving early.

“This is boring,” the young wizard whinged.

His son was merely bored. Of course he was.

“Well, Scorpius, seeing as  _ you _ have never come here for an anniversary event before, I don’t know where you get off with saying  _ we _ ,” Draco drawled. “If you would prefer to be left behind again with your little sisters and your governess come next year, by all means, let me know now. I seem to remember you begging to come tonight. Perhaps I was mistaken?”

“Great, so we came. There’s no one here my age. Why did mother have to insist I come?” Scorpius continued in a grating voice.

“Why don’t you find your mother and ask her yourself. While you’re at it, ask her to dance. She’d enjoy that,” Draco suggested to his son.

Watching his son walk away, he allowed himself a small sigh.

“How is it,” a voice came from beside Draco, someone appearing there while he had been distracted, “that we managed to have two of the biggest wankers for offspring?” 

Not letting on that he was put out by being snuck up on, Draco countered with, “At least I know where my offspring is. I thought yours would be running around with mine, thick as thieves.”

“I’m sure Bryan is in some dark corner with a witch, hand up her skirt,” Theo replied.

“Shite!” Draco swore, looking desperately around the room. He scanned the crowd for a familiar head of blonde curls.

When he caught sight of an even more familiar head of brown curls, he mouthed the words “Where’s our eldest daughter?” at his wife. Hermione shrugged.

Draco stalked off towards the doors to the entryway, leaving a snickering Theo behind as he called out “Leona!”

After twenty years, the stories of Tom Riddle’s defeat were now more legend than fact. After all, history is written by the victors.


End file.
